Puzzle Pieces
by Archduchess of Books
Summary: People are like puzzles, and John thinks he has our favorite highly-functioning sociopath figured out. But that impression changes after he comes to visit Sherlock on day... NOTE: This is set after the Empty Hearse. Kinda disregards everything after that because this plot would NOT GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

People, John had decided a long time ago, were like puzzles, all the pieces coming together to create that person. Sherlock had an extraordinary gift for seeing more pieces than most people could at a glance, but John, having spent so much time with his friend, assumed that he had picked up on those gifts, even after moving out and marrying Mary. He figured he had the puzzle that was Sherlock Holmes figured out: highly-functioning sociopath, cold, stubborn, intelligent (and far too aware of it), condescending, with a slight drug problem.

But what John didn't know was that he was missing quite a few puzzle pieces…

 **CHAPTER 1: A SURPRISING REVELATION**

It was a completely normal day until there came a harried, incessant pounding on the door of 221B Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson, bless her heart, could be heard chastising whoever was knocking ("Really dear, this is quite unnecessary! He isn't in!") but she was barely audible over the screams of a small child.

"Leggo me! Leggo me NOW!"

John sighed. Why was it the craziest people showed up whenever Sherlock was out? He reluctantly put down his book and rose, going to answer the door.

This revealed a young woman with a half-shaved hairstyle so popular on teenagers, dyed neon green. Her lipstick and eye shadow were electric blue. Her eyes were brown, lined with a thick black line of heavy eyeliner, and she was wearing a purple camisole, a black leather jacket, and torn up black jeans with black flip flops. She looked like the drummer to some sort of rock band, and she looked pissed.

Beside her was the source of the screams, which had stopped when John opened the door. The young woman held a little girl of about four or five tightly by the wrist, and the little girl appeared to be in the middle of tugging herself free. One foot was braced against the woman's leg. She looked up at John from beneath unruly dark brown curls with bright, curious blue eyes. She took in John's appearance with a single, cursory glance before returning to her original task of freeing herself.

The other woman wasted no time. "Is he in?"

"If you mean Sherlock, no he isn't. There's been a rather unusual missing persons case and Scotland Yard called him to investigate. What is it you need?"

The young woman scowled. "Ugh. I don't have time for this. Are you his flatmate? Can you call and tell him to come back, tell him it's really important?"

John shook his head. 'Sorry, I'm afraid not. He turns off his phone for things like this."

The woman let out a frustrated growl and marched in, pushing past John and Mrs. Hudson, dragging the little girl behind her. The child immediately began to put up another fight, though mercifully without screaming.

"You hurting me." The child said sternly, very articulate for her age, bracing her feet against the carpet. "You leggo me right now!"

"Just shut up and sit still!" the woman snapped, exasperation on every inch of her face.

"No! Sitting still is borrriiinnnggg!" the child whined, kicking as the young woman grabbed her by the arms and tried to wrestle her down onto the sofa. John stood there, feeling uncomfortable. What on Earth was he supposed to do? The young woman looked quite dangerous. Judging from her tone, the child was usually difficult. He took this opportunity to try his own hand at deduction.

The little girl was wearing worn jeans and a green zip-up jacket, little blue sneakers on her feet. Her eyes were bright blue, perceptive and intelligent, and her dark curls played leapfrog around her face and shoulders. She was rather pretty. But she was also clearly stubborn. The second the young woman sat her down and straightened up, the little girl took off, running as fast as her little legs would carry her across the living room and into Sherlock's bedroom, screaming "NOOOOOO!" on her way.

"VIOLET!" the woman yelled after her, then groaned and covered her face. John started towards the room, intending to remove her from it, before the young woman held up a weary hand to stop him. "Don't bother, she's hidden by now and won't come out unless she wants to. I never caught your name." she added, looking at him inquiringly.

"John Watson."

"Nice to meet you, John. I'm Sabrina Murray."

They shook hands, then Sabrina sat down with a groan, swinging a large red backpack off of her back and depositing it on the floor next to her foot. "My niece…ugh, I'm sorry about her. I don't know what her problem is. I'm hoping Sherlock can help me with that."

John was just picturing Sherlock's face if Sabrina told him she had come to him for child-rearing advice when the door opened and Sherlock himself swept in, not noticing Sabrina at the other end of the couch as he spoke to John, untying his scarf as he did so.

"I swear, John, Lestrade is the only officer in the entire Scotland Yard that won't drive me to insanity before the year is out… what the hell are you doing here?"

He had noticed Sabrina on the end of the couch, but there was no time for introductions. John took a sip of tea, trying to prepare himself for the afternoon, and at the same instant, a delighted little voice screamed "DADDY!" from the door of Sherlock's room.

John choked on his tea, and a second later, as Sherlock's head snapped towards his door, a streak of brown curls and green jacket flew from the doorway to attach itself to Sherlock's leg.

To John's surprise, Sherlock didn't appear fazed in the least. Instead, he stood for a second before crouching down to the child's level. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her to a comfortable position on his hip as he straightened and spoke to Sabrina. "Again I ask, what the hell are you doing here? It isn't my weekend yet."

John blinked, again confused. Yes, Sherlock disappeared a weekend every month, but John had absolutely no idea where he went. His eyes strayed to Violet, who was leaning her head contentedly on Sherlock's shoulder, one little fist curled into the collar of his coat. He was suddenly struck with the similarity of the two: both had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, and he could see hints of Sherlock's features in the little girl, though the sharp angles had been softened somehow, the high cheekbones prominent on both faces more gentle and graceful on Violet's face.

John blinked. Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing?

"I've reversed the paperwork." Sabrina was saying. "She's your responsibility now, I just can't handle her, and she's driving me crazy." She pointed to the large red backpack. "Those are her clothes, books, a few other things I grabbed. She can tell you everything else. I have to go." She gave a curt nod in Violets direction. "Bye, Violet."

Violet lifted her head to bestow a sweet smile. "Bye, Aunt Sabrina. Have fun on your date."

Sabrina blinked. "Wha… oh never mind." She turned to John, still sitting frozen on the couch, staring at this exchange. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Watson."

Then she left, leaving John extremely confused.

Sherlock stood there for a second, listening to Sabrina's footsteps descend the stairs, before he laughed and spun around, holding Violet up so she flew through the air with him, making her squeal with delight. John watched them, still confused.

"Hahaha! You're-you're staying with me now!" Sherlock gasped out, now holding Violet close. She looked up at him, eyes going wide with a sudden realization.

"Will I ever have to go back, Daddy?"

Sherlock's expression softened and he hugged her. "Not if I have any say in it, Violet."

"A-hem." John muttered, causing both to look at him.

Sherlock sighed and shifted Violet to his hip again. "Ah yes, introductions. Violet, this is John Watson, a close friend. John, this is Violet Holmes." He grinned down at her and said, quietly, "My daughter."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: A NUMBERED KISS**

If John was surprised then, it was absolutely nothing to how he felt now.

"Your-your _what!?_ " He spluttered.

"My daughter." Sherlock explained calmly, still holding Violet. The little girl was looking around the flat excitedly, practically shoving herself out of Sherlock's arms as she craned to see what was inside the kitchen. Her eyes widened at the sight of the usual mess of test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks that littered the table.

"Daddy, whats that?" she asked, pointing.

"An expirement."

"Ooohhh! I see?"

"Violet, I believe you're missing a word somewhere in there…" Sherlock said calmly. The little girl flushed and screwed up her face before brightening in remembrance.

" _Can_ I see?"

"Yes you can, but don't touch anything."

Sherlock set her down and Violet ran into the kitchen.

"Sherlock." John said. His friend looked at him with a 'yes?' expression.

"Sit down, right now, and explain to me what the bloody hell just happened."

Sherlock sighed and settled into his chair, his hands coming up into his classic Sherlock position. He stared at the wall for a moment before beginning to speak.

"It was seven years ago. Mycroft had set me a case that took me to America for a few weeks…"

 _It was a club in New York City. Music blasted from speakers on the wall, it was dark except for disco lights, and scantily dressed young people were dancing packed together. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and excitement was thick in the air. People were screeching along with the song and every now and then everyone would scream hysterically as the excitement reached higher and higher, making the air in the club positively electric._

 _Sherlock hated it._

 _He had to be here. The man he was following was here, but lost in the crowd for the moment, and Sherlock would have to wait for him to emerge, confident that Sherlock Holmes would never set foot in a place like this. This left Sherlock with a problem._

 _He was relieved he wouldn't have to join the crowd on the dance floor, he saw other people sitting at tables drinking. Unfortunately, none were alone, and it would be pretty obvious if he were to sit alone and stare at the crowd. So, that left him with one option. Find a partner._

 _He scanned the tables and spotted a young woman sitting alone at a table, sipping a margarita through a straw and staring absently out at the crowd. Perfect. He made his way over to the table._

" _My condolences on breaking up with your boyfriend." He said by way of greeting._

 _The woman glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows. "Creeper alert."_

" _It's quite obvious, really." Sherlock said. He hadn't had anyone to show off to for days. "Your eyes are red, partly from crying as is evidenced by your slightly smeared mascara, and partly from the alcohol you are consuming, all while staring daggers at a spot on the dance floor where I assume your ex is either dancing or merely because you have zoned out. So again, my condolences."_

" _Thanks, Random Smart British Guy. Very nice of you. Now do you mind telling me why exactly you are over here?"_

 _Sherlock shrugged, slightly impressed by the woman's manner. "I was wondering if I could sit."_

" _Just because I broke up with my boyfriend does not mean I'm leaving with you, no matter how awesome your accent happens to be." the woman replied, taking another sip of her drink._

" _I wasn't asking because of that. Someone I am chasing is in that crowd and I need a quiet place to sit and watch for when he leaves. It would be easier to stay unnoticed if I'm at least sitting with someone."_

 _The woman eyed him, then shrugged. "So you're a cop, huh? Eh, why not. Sit down and order yourself a beer if you want one. And since you're going to be sitting here, would you mind doing me a favor?"_

 _Sherlock shrugged as he sat._

" _I'll take that as a yes. My ex is out there and I know he's going to want to find me and show off whatever girl he cheated on me with, because that's the kind of jerk he is. So if I end up suddenly flirting with you, just go along with it, okay?"She suddenly gave him a sweet smile, stirring her drink with her straw in a flirty way. "Like right now, for instance." She tossed her head, sending long straight hair flying gracefully back over her shoulder. "Throw your head back and laugh at something I just said."_

 _Sherlock complied, then leaned closer, intrigued by this woman's manner. "What's your name?"_

" _Kristen Webb. My friends call me Kristy." She held out her hand. "What's your name?"_

" _Sherlock Holmes." He shook her hand, then studied her._

 _She would, he estimated, reach his shoulder when standing. Her hair was long, straight and strawberry blonde, falling to mid-back. She was wearing a sleeveless silver dress, fitted and reaching to about mid-thigh, with tall black boots, and some sort of sweet perfume hovered around her. Her eyes were brown and lined in silver eyeliner. She was very pretty, but he wasn't thinking of that at the moment, of course._

" _So." She said. "Tell me about this case."_

" _I can't. It's classified."_

" _Then tell me something else. Something unclassified."_

 _As he complied, telling her about another case he had worked on, he found himself growing more and more interested in the things she would say. So, to distract himself from the way her hair caught the color of the light and the way her eyes were sparkling, he did what he did best._

 _He deduced that she was about his age, worked in a library, and that the club wasn't her kind of scene. She was a college student who had just finished a huge test. She was witty and entertaining. He would have deduced more, but just then he spotted his target detach himself from the crowded dance floor and head for the door._

" _I need to go." He said. She smiled._

" _No prob. Here's how to make a good exit from a club, Mr. Holmes. Check your watch, look at me regretfully, and stand up."_

 _Sherlock did so. She rose with him and handed him a slip of paper she scribbled something on._

" _It'll look weird if you leave without taking my number." She said in response to his questioning look._

 _Then she stepped forward and did a very strange thing: she placed a hand on his shoulder, rose slightly on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek._

" _Thank you for a very interesting conversation, Mr. Holmes." She whispered, her breath warm on his cheek, before she stepped away, smiled at him, and slipped past, heading for the door. She shot him one last smile before leaving._

 _Sherlock left the club and caught a cab (a taxi, they were called in America) and told the cabbie to take him to his targets hotel (deduced, of course, from the direction the man was walking from when Sherlock had begun following him that morning). As the cabbie drove off, Sherlock looked down and unfolded the slip of paper._

Call me. (575) 344-3399. –Kristy.

 _An involuntary smile quirked the corner of his mouth._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys!**

 **Okay, so I realized that I haven't been including a disclaimer or an author's note in my chapters. Sorry!**

 **Here it is: (drum roll sounds)…**

 **I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ANY CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW. I OWN THE PLOT AND VIOLET AND SABRINA. THAT'S IT.**

 **Love you guys! Stay beautiful!**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 3: WHAT IS THIS FEELING?**

 _Over the next few days, Sherlock could not stop thinking about her, which annoyed him immensely. His brain was betraying him!_

" _Sentiment is the grit in a sensitive instrument." He must have told himself that a million times since meeting her. That didn't seem to stop his cheek from tingling where she had kissed him, didn't stop her note, still in his coat pocket, from burning into his hip. That didn't stop the way her handwriting had formed her name had engraved itself in his mind._

 _Finally, after even playing the violin didn't help him (though it seriously annoyed his neighbors in the hotel he was staying at) he decided to call her._

 _He was bored, he told himself. The case had been solved, but Mycroft was asking him to stay in the country a little longer. She had been mildly interesting (very interesting, which he will only admit inside his own head) to talk to. It's just something to occupy him until Mycroft finally arrests the man and he can go home._

 _(he's not attracted to her nope not at all most definitely not that's not the case)_

 _So he called her._

 _After four rings she picked up._

" _Hello, this is Kristy."_

 _Something stirred in him at the sound of her voice._

" _Hello Kristy. It's Sherlock. We met at the club a few nights ago?"_

" _Well, about time you called, dork. I was starting to think I wasn't interesting."_

 _Sherlock found himself smiling and forced himself to stop._

" _It wasn't that. I just… didn't have time."_

" _That case giving you a hard time, huh?"_

" _Something like that, yes."_

" _Poor baby." He could practically hear the smirk in her voice. "Do you like coffee?"_

 _He blinked at the sudden shift in subject. "Um…yes. Why?"_

" _I'm bored and want coffee. Wanna meet me at the Starbucks on Fifth?"_

 _Sherlock blinked again. Was she… asking him out?_

 _He was pretty bored here at the hotel…_

" _Okay."_

" _Awesome. Give me a second to escape from this woefully boring social engagement and I'll be there." She gave him the exact address and hung up with a cheerful "Bye! See you there!"_

 _And she was there. When he got out of the cab, she was sitting at a table outside. Seeing him, she got up and smiled, waving. Sherlock waved back and headed over._

" _Hey." she said when he reached her, leaning over to hug him. Sherlock was confused, but hugged her back. The same perfume from the night at the club surrounded him. He decided it was citrus. Quite faint and very pleasant. They sat down and ordered coffee._

 _She wasn't wearing as much makeup as she had been a few nights ago: none at all, actually. She wore a soft rose-colored sweater against the October chill of NYC, pale blue jeans and, once again, boots, tan this time instead of black. Her hair was gathered back into a sleek ponytail._

" _So." She said, leaning forward and folding her arms on the tabletop. "Tell me about yourself."_

 _Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. "That is excessively vague. What do you want to know?"_

 _The waiter came back and set their coffee down on the table: his black with two sugars, hers with a little cream added._

 _She laughed softly. "Just to know." She gave him that smile again. "Just tell me… you know. Hobbies. Family. Your job." She gestured with her hands. "Who is Sherlock Holmes?"_

 _He could count on one hand the amount of people he had opened up to in his life, but she was smiling again and the sun was hitting her hair just right, turning it into a tail of fiery copper down her back, and her eyes, the color of the coffee in her cup, were looking at him with more interest than he could remember a woman ever showing him, and he couldn't stop once he started._

 _He told her he lived in London ("Ooh, fancy." She said.) and that he was the world's only consulting detective. ("Cool!" she said, eyes sparkling and her grin infectiously wide. "You started your own job. That is seriously cool!") He told her about his interest in science. ("A man of many talents, aren't you?" she said, winking at him over the rim of her mug, and he could feel himself blush, something he hadn't done since he was at least eight.) He told her about his brother. ("Mycroft and Sherlock, huh? Your parents really got creative in the name department." Her smile told him she wasn't being mean, merely observing.) It was addicting and unnerving, talking to someone who didn't find him off-putting. The strange stirring within him was happening again, and so to collect his thoughts he asked her. "What about you?"_

 _She shrugged, looking down into her cup. "Eh. I'm nothing special."_

 _He surprised himself by replying "This morning with you says otherwise." And then he blushed a little again when she smiled up at him through long blonde eyelashes. (how old are you geezum cripes get it together Holmes)._

" _Smart, talented, handsome, and smooth too? I think I hit the jackpot when I let you sit down." She said, smiling flirtatiously over at him. His blush grows darker. (What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is this woman doing to him?)_

" _I'm working on a chemistry degree in college." She tells him. "I've lived here all my life. I have one sibling: a sister, Sabrina. I was actually 'hanging out'" she makes exaggerated air quotes "with her when you called, so I am forever in your debt for rescuing me from the torture. She's trying to start a heavy metal band with a bunch of her friends, and 1)I hate heavy metal, and 2) she is absolutely awful. But I can't see her unless she is practicing." She made a face, and then brightened. "But anyway, yeah. I want to become a biochemist when I graduate. Either that or work in forensics. I find the human body absolutely fascinating."_

 _Sherlock was suddenly very aware of his heartbeat speeding up slightly._

 _They talked and laughed for another hour before she got a text and had to go. "One second." She said before walking around to his side of the table and pulling out her phone._

" _Smile." She said, draping her arm around his shoulder. "This is for your contact picture."_

 _He didn't know what made him do it, but he wrapped his arm around her back so her cheek was even closer to his and smiled at the camera: a real smile, not a smirk._

 _She took the picture, then smiled at him and hugged him again. "Bye, Sherlock."_

" _Bye, Kristy." He smiled at her retreating back, and then started to walk in the opposite direction. He hadn't been walking long when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and checked it._

 _It was the picture she had just taken, the one of them smiling. A text accompanied it._

You're cute when you smile. Dinner 6 Friday, maybe? I know a reeaaalllyy good Italian place…-Kristy

 _He found himself grinning again._

 _This is just because I'm bored, he told himself as he answered._

 **Sure-SH.**

 **CHAPTER 4: A VERY PERSONAL CASE**

 _Sherlock may or may not have a problem._

 _Mycroft called to inform him of the problems England was having extraditing the criminal, which meant he had to stay in America for at least two more weeks. Normally this news would have sent him into a pout, but he wasn't as bothered now. In fact, the news that he had two more weeks to spend here made him very cheerful._

 _All because of Kristy._

 _They had been meeting ever since they had gotten into a spirited debate (over some of the best Italian food he has ever eaten) over which element was more reactive to water: she said calcium, he said very active metals. Some of the things he had said had caused her to laugh, ducking her head so her hair (which had been down and held back with a black headband) had fallen forward to hide her face, shoulders shaking. And once again, at the end of it, they decided to meet up again at the same coffeehouse they had first met at. That meeting, only lasting an hour or two, had made him even more intrigued by her. Then she had had to go back to school, so he amused himself by texting her between meetings._

 _Sometimes it was just debates._

I'm telling you, dork, calcium is more reactive! –Kristy

 **No way. It's very active metals that are more reactive. - SH**

Clearly, you need to sit through a chem. lecture here. –Kristy

 _Other times, it was flirting (though he tried not to call it that because Sherlock Holmes_ _does not_ _flirt.)_

 **Ugh, lectures. Lectures are boring. Its way more fun texting you. –SH**

 _(He totally doesn't obsess over that text until she replies)_

Awww! I like texting you too. Your way more interesting… and way better looking… then my professor.-Kristy

 _(He totally doesn't blush at that nope nuh-uh not at all)_

 _Her forwardness intrigued him. Most of the other women or girls he had been around had been shy or coy. They played games with his head, so he played with theirs right back, by telling them he knew exactly what they were doing. None had ever interested him…until now._

 _It wasn't just the fact that she was pretty. She was intelligent and funny, and naturally happy. She never played games: she told him exactly what she thought. Like what happened over another conversation:_

You have got to call me or something. My friend is sitting next to me and asked who I was texting and I replied ' my boyfriend' and she doesn't believe me so call me so I can prove her wrong. She'll owe me five bucks HA! –Kristy

 _Sherlock's heart just about stopped when he read the words 'my boyfriend.' He quickly replied._

 **I'm your boyfriend now? –SH**

Um…duh. We've been going on dates and everything. But if your uncomfortable with that that's good too. – Kristy

 _Was he okay with that? Oh yeah. He was just fine with that._

 **I'm perfectly fine with that label. - SH**

Well then, boyfriend, call me. I need five bucks. - Kristy

 _He had called her then, still thrilling silently over the words._

 _Then, the day before he had arranged to meet her at the movies, Mycroft called him and told him that he was free to come home._

 _All suaveness abandoned him._

" _I can't." he blurted._

 _There was silence on the other end before a perplexed Mycroft answered "What?"_

" _I can't come back now. There is a" he almost said 'girl' but stopped himself "case that I have found. It's rather…personal. I don't want to leave until I have solved it."_

 _Well, it was the truth, technically. Kristy (and his feelings toward her) is the most interesting case he believes he has ever come across._

 _It took Mycroft a second to answer._

" _Very well, Sherlock. Call me when you have solved this case and I will fly you home. Good luck to you."_

 _Sherlock felt the tension drain out of him._

" _I will. Goodbye, Mycroft."_

 _He hung up, still trying not to grin._

 _Geez, he was turning into a teenage girl._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. I own the plot and any characters you do not recognize from the show.**

 **CHAPTER 5: THE GAME BEGINS**

Sherlock suddenly paused in his story. "A car has pulled up outside."

John blinked at the sudden change. Sherlock jumped up and headed for the window, looking out. Violet, who had been quietly examining the experiment in the kitchen, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes wide.

"A police car…" Sherlock muttered to himself. "Lestrade."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as Sherlock turned to face the door. It opened.

Sure enough, it was Lestrade. His hair was tousled and his eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of fear. He clutched a slip of paper in his hand.

"There's been a development." Sherlock said calmly. "What?"

Lestrade, who was out of breath, simply held out the slip of paper.

It was white printer paper, with a single line of typed script in black letters across the middle.

 **YLLNVRFNDHR**

Sherlock examined this intently while Lestrade spoke.

"We were in Patty Ellis's apartment…"

"Who's Patty Ellis?" John interjected.

"She's the young lady who's missing." Lestrade explained quickly before turning back to Sherlock.

"Anyway, 'bout one this morning, Donovan was coming to relieve Williams of his shift when someone suddenly rushed past her, shoving her against the wall. She says when she continued into the apartment, Williams was knocked out and that paper was taped to Miss Ellis's jewelry box with a strip of blue masking tape."

Sherlock stilled, shoulders stiffening and eyes freezing in their trek across the paper. Lestrade did not notice: in fact, the only person who noticed was Violet, who had been watching the proceedings with great interest and now fastened her bright blue eyes on her father. A slight frown graced her features.

 **Violet's P.O.V**

What was wrong with Daddy?

Violet had no idea, but she knew it had something to do with blue masking tape and the missing lady's jewelry box. It seemed silly to her. What could possibly be scary about blue masking tape and a jewelry box? Aunt Sabrina had owned a cheap metal jewelry box Violet was not allowed to touch, and several rolls of blue masking tape. She had threatened many times to tape Violet's mouth shut with the stuff.

But Violet trusted Daddy, and so she narrowed her eyes, trying to think about anything dangerous about a jewelry box and a piece of blue masking tape. She came up with nothing.

Then her eyes focused on the piece of paper, which Daddy had set down on the arm of his chair, the arm closest to Violet. He and Lestrade were talking now in low voices about the sig-nif-i-gance of the code on the paper. Violet moved forward slowly and picked it up.

Her eyebrows scrunched in thought as she examined the strange line. Was it just one big word?

She gave her head a little shake. No. It couldn't be a word. There weren't any…

She blinked.

There weren't any vowels.

She looked closer. No. There weren't any vowels. You needed vowels to make a word. A com-pre-hen-si-ble one, at least.

Daddy had said once that if she didn't know what something said, to sound it out. So she did so, carefully sounding out each part.

 **Lestrade P.O.V**

A small voice behind Lestrade spoke.

"Yll… yll...you'll?"

He turned quickly. A little girl was standing behind him, eyes focused on the slip of paper, which she held tight in small hands, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sherlock glanced up, watching the child closely.

"Nvr...never. You'll never." the little girl muttered.

Suddenly seeming to notice how quiet the room had gotten, she looked up. Lestrade, John, and Sherlock were all staring at her. She blinked her bright blue eyes for a second, then held out the hand that held the paper. Her voice was quiet and a little shy.

"I think I've solved it, Daddy."

Lestrade blinked. He had no children and he knew John didn't have any. There was of course no chance of Sherlock having any children. So who was this little girl addressing?

"What do you mean, you've solved it?"

Apparently she was addressing Sherlock, which very quickly pushed all thoughts of the case into the back of Lestrade's mind.

"There aren't any vowels, Daddy. See? No a, e, i, o, or u."

Sherlock took the paper from her and examined it quickly. His mouth moved, forming words too quickly for Lestrade to see. Then he lifted his head and gazed at the little girl for a long moment before a huge grin suddenly spread across his face and he laughed, reaching out and pulling the little girl toward him in a tight hug. She giggled and hugged him back.

"Brilliant, Violet, brilliant!"

 _So her name was Violet_ , Lestrade thought in a rather detached fashion, still watching Sherlock hugging the girl. He had never seen him hug anyone, much less call anyone brilliant… unless he was being sarcastic.

"Lestrade." Sherlock was holding out the paper. Apparently Lestrade had spent more time than he thought staring at the pair, because Sherlock had scribbled something on the piece of paper beneath the line of typed text.

 _You'll never find her._

"Rather ominous." Sherlock remarked dryly, standing straight again. Violet was on his hip, one little arm thrown over his shoulder. Now that their heads were level, Lestrade was suddenly struck with the similarity of the two dark, curly heads and the two sets of blue eyes. Both were watching him, Sherlock's slightly annoyed, Violets merely filled with a bright, childlike curiosity. "I expect that the person who wrote it was rather inclined to be unnecessarily dramatic."

"Who-" Lestrade cleared his throat and endeavored to speak calmly. "Who's this?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him but replied simply "Violet. My daughter."

Lestrade felt the world spin out of control.

"Your- Your what?" he managed.

"My daughter, Violet, who has quite admirably solved the code for us, I might add."

It occurred to the tiny part of Lestrade's brain that wasn't reeling to be slightly humiliated by the fact that a child had solved the code, but he decided that if Sherlock Holmes could have a child, then a five-year-old girl could solve a code that had stumped the London Police.

Lestrade took the paper from Sherlock's hand. "I'd better… get this back."

"Yes you should."

Still dazed, Lestrade turned to leave.

"I must go too, Mary will be waiting." John said quickly, standing.

Both said their goodbyes, then walked out of the door. As soon as it closed, Lestrade turned to John.

"What the bloody hell just happened!"


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: A CARED-FOR CORPSE**

John came back the next day, curious as to what Sherlock was doing regarding the missing persons case.

His answer was not long in coming. When he knocked at the door, it was opened not by Sherlock but by Violet, wearing jeans and a purple T-shirt, dark curls combed and playing leapfrog around her head and shoulders.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully, stepping back to let him in. "Daddy's in his Mind Palace right now, but once he wakes up I'll go get him."

John blinked at this pronouncement, then thanked the girl. Sure enough, Sherlock's door was shut. The door to John's old bedroom was open, however, and John could see evidence that it had been slept in.

So Violet really was staying here.

"Would you like tea, Mr. Watson?"the little girl asked. "Mrs. Hudson brought some up earlier, but Daddy hasn't eaten yet."

Sure enough, on the table was a tray with a teacup and an empty glass that must have once contained milk, along with two plates: one empty and speckled with crumbs and strawberry jam, the other containing two pieces of toast.

John declined, then sat down, watching Violet humming to herself as she went to the big red backpack Sabrina had brought, extracting what looked like a child's science textbook and opening it.

"Violet." said John gently, deciding to try and unravel this mystery. "Where's your mother?"

Violet pointed up. "Mummy's in heaven."

She didn't sound disturbed or sad, more like she was stating a simple, obvious fact of life.

"She died when I was really little." Violet explained. "I don't remember much, and Daddy and Aunt Sabrina don't like talking about her."

Sherlock's door opened and Violet looked up.

"Morning, Daddy." she said cheerfully. "Mrs. Hudson brought tea up and Mr. Watson is here."

Sherlock nodded to the both of them and collapsed in his chair, muttering something under his breath.

Violet picked up her book and moved to sit in the chair by the window.

"You've come to ask about Violet, John. Or her mother, at least." Sherlock said, deadpan. "Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you anymore then I already have. I met her in New York seven years ago, and she died shortly after Violet was born." He leaned back in his chair. "I really think that's all you need to know."

"Sherlock, I've known you for three years now. I've never heard you mention Violet. Or her mother."

Sherlock shrugged. "It never came up."

John had opened his mouth to argue why Sherlock should have told him this rather important fact when Violet interjected.

"Daddy, a police car is driving on the road."

She stared out of the window for a few more seconds before proclaiming "It's stopped and the man from yesterday is getting out."

"Another development." Sherlock muttered. "Shall we shelve this debate for another time, then, John?"

There had been another development, all right. Patty Ellis had turned up dead. Before John could blink, he and Sherlock were in a cab heading for the scene. Violet sat beside her father, looking out of the window.

Sherlock had won the argument about taking his five-year-old to a crime scene. "She's a good girl." he had said, pulling on his coat. Violet was already in her green zip-up jacket and shoes and was waiting eagerly by the door. "She won't touch anything if I tell her not to. Besides, Mrs. Hudson is going out for a few hours, so there's no one to watch her." Still seeing the look on John's face, Sherlock had rolled his eyes. "It'll be fine."

Surprisingly, it was. Violet sat quietly beside her father, looking out of the window. Twice, she turned around to ask her father a question. 

"Where are we going, Daddy?"

" A crime scene."

"What happened?"

"A body has turned up."

Violet was quiet until the crime scene tape came into view.

"Can I see, Daddy?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No you can't. Stand with John and wait."

"Okay."

 **Donovan's P.O.V**

When the black cab pulled up, Donovan groaned inwardly. She hated dealing with the freak and his friend. She marched over to the tape, crossed her arms and waited as the freak got out, surveying the scene. Watson got out the other side. The freak swept the scene for a moment before he marched over to her. She crossed her arms.

"Sergeant Donovan." For some reason the freak seemed lighter today. There was even a tiny smile on his face. Who smiled at a crime scene?

"Hey, freak." she greeted him, reaching for her shoulder to contact Lestrade.

"That's not nice!"

Donovan jumped and looked down.

Standing at the freaks side was a little girl about five, wearing a green zip-up jacket and black sneakers. Dark shoulder-length curls bounced in the soft breeze, framing an angry face and indignant blue eyes.

Why the f #! had the freak brought a child to a crime scene?! She demanded this at once.

"Language, Donovan, children are present." the freak said dryly. "I'm heading in. She's staying out here."

The little girl was still clearly angry.

"You say sorry." she demanded. "Calling people freak is not nice."

Donovan mumbled a very insincere apology and lifted the tape. The freak ducked under and headed off. The child stayed behind, watching the goings-on with great interest.

Donovan was about to ask her where her parents were when she spotted Anderson coming up the hill. Her vision tunneled.

"Sergeant Donovan." he greeted, winking discreetly at her.

"Hello, Anderson." she responded, smiling and casually smoothing her hair.

His gaze stayed on her for a second before flicking to the little girl. "Who's this?"

Donovan shrugged. "I don't know, the freak brought her."

The child, who had been watching them both with a kind of detached interest, shot her a glare.

"Hi there." said Anderson, his voice taking on the high-pitched tone some people use when addressing small children. "Can you tell us your name? I'm Officer Anderson."

The child quirked an eyebrow but responded with "I'm Violet."

"That's a very nice name." Anderson told her, smiling.

The child said nothing, watching the two of them and absentmindedly blowing a curl out of her face.

"How old are you, Violet?"

"Five." The little girl responded, looking bored. She was on her tiptoes looking down the hill, watching the freak gesture as he spoke to Lestrade, straining to see around Anderson.

"Wow! Such a big girl!" Anderson exclaimed.

Violet raised her eyebrows at his overenthusiastic tone but said nothing.

"Where is your mummy, Violet, do you know?"

"Mummy's dead." Violet replied matter-of-factly. Then she noticed something on Anderson's hand and frowned at the two of them.

"Isn't it not nice to date someone when you're married?" she asked.

Donovan felt like she had been punched. Anderson looked like he felt the same.

"Wh-what?" he stammered.

"You're wearing a ring." the child said, pointing to Anderson's left hand. "But your dating her." Her finger moved to Donovan. "It's not nice."

"Um… what makes you think we're dating?" Donovan asked, trying to be casual.

Violet turned to watch the freak as she spoke.

"Well, when he came up the hill, he winked at you and you smiled and fixed your hair. Not to mention the flirty tone in your voices when you said hello. Text-book signs of in-fa-shu-a-shun." She pronounced the last word very careful, paying attention to each syllable, before she continued. "Then when he was talking to me, you were smiling at him the entire time and he was showing off his kid skills for you."

Watson, standing a few feet away, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"So I knew you were dating from the start. Then I saw your ring, which means you're married. So I asked a question and you both looked like you'd been punched. So that answered my question. You're dating while you're married and it's not nice."

Donovan and Anderson stood there staring at her for a second before the freak came up the hill, still talking to Lestrade.

"... her body was washed, her hair combed, and she was dressed in new clothes. If I'm not mistaken, she's even wearing makeup. All was done postmortem. Whoever did this knew her personally, I'm suspecting a romantic attachment. Please look into that and tell me what you find. Did you bring me the codes I asked for?"

Lestrade produced a file. Inside were the coded messages they had found in Patty Ellis's flat, all in plastic sleeves. The freak took it, thanked Lestrade, and continued walking.

Anderson stopped him. "Holmes, I know we've had our differences, but that does not mean you continue spreading rumors about me!"

The freak looked confused for a second before he smirked. "I take it you met Violet, Anderson?"

"Hi, Mr. Lestrade." Violet said cheerfully, waving.

"Hello, Violet." Lestrade answered.

"Can we go home, Daddy? I'm kinda tired."

When Donovan realized who the child was addressing, she felt the strong urge to scream.

The freak nodded to Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan. "If you'll excuse me, I have to take my daughter home." He calmly ducked under the tape. Violet slipped her hand into his, and a still-snickering John came over to them. The three walked off to hail a cab.

Donovan and Anderson both turned to look at Lestrade, who shrugged.

"That would be Violet Holmes." he said quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: VISIT TO THE MIND PALACE**

The body had just come in when Sherlock swept into the morgue.

"Hello, Molly." He greeted her, heading straight for the body.

"Hello, Sherlock." She responded, smiling to herself.

Sherlock bent over the body, squinting at something near the victim's hip.

The door creaked open and Molly looked up, her eyes widening when she saw a little girl in the doorway. The girl was looking around the room with a little smile, examining everything with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, you aren't allowed in here!" Molly gasped, swooping in to try and shield the little girl from the sight of the dead body.

The child smiled up at her. "Hi, I'm Violet. Are you a friend of my daddy's?"

Just then, John appeared behind the girl, saw Molly's face, and sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't ask." He mouthed as Violet slipped past Molly and headed over to Sherlock, who had lifted the body to look at something on the shoulder blade. Violet was standing on her toes to see as well. She pointed.

"Is that a name, Daddy?"

Molly suddenly felt her knees weaken. _Daddy?_

Sherlock squinted closely at whatever he was looking at.

"Yes, that is a name, Violet. Be a good girl and get my phone out of my pocket for me."

Violet did so, and Sherlock began taking pictures. Once done he took Violets hand, nodded to a still-dumbstruck Molly, and left. John gave Molly a sympathetic look before leaving.

Molly was left feeling as though the world had just dropped from beneath her feet.

Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and narcissistic asshole, had a _daughter_?

…

Once back at Baker Street, Sherlock deposited Violet in what was now her room with her books and went to his own. He sat on his bed and pulled out the folder Lestrade had given him, looking through them.

The code was so familiar…

He winced. Now was not the time to think about that. He refused. Giving his head a small shake, he went back to thinking about the case, combing through the coded messages and ignoring the memories trying to surface in the back of his mind.

Patty Ellis had been twenty-nine years old. The few friends she had told the police that she was shy and timid, with a fear of walking alone at night. Someone had let themselves into her apartment with a key the night she went missing. Her body had been found with several bruises around her neck, arms and face, as though she had been grabbed, choked, and hit about the face. But her murderer had taken the time to try and cover those bruises with makeup, combing her hair carefully over some of those over her forehead and eyes and the ones on the side of her neck, which spoke of remorse. Cause of death: a gunshot wound to the stomach, which her carefully arranged hands had been covering. Another note had been folded and placed in one palm. Sherlock withdrew this note now and looked at it.

MSRRYPTTY

 _I'm sorry Patty._

So a crime of passion then. It would fit with his theory. No killer took those pains with someone they didn't know.

Sherlock picked up his phone and opened the recent photos he had taken of the crime scene and autopsy.

Patty Ellis had been 5"7, with long straight golden-red hair. She had had blue eyes and a faded tattoo of a rose on her shoulder blade, another of a feather beneath the curve of her hip. A stylized butterfly, newer than the others, was tattooed on her right ankle, with the word _FREE_ making up its body. She had been found with her hair brushed, wearing a sky-blue, form-fitting sweater with a pair of dark jeans and white flats. Her eyes had been closed and makeup applied: red lipstick, pink blush and some pale grey eye shadow. Concealer had been liberally applied to hide the bruises on her face.

 _She had escaped from someone a long time ago, hence the butterfly. That someone had killed her in a fit of rage as evidenced by the bruises and the placement of the gunshot, but then felt remorse once she was dead, which was clear from the way he had closed her eyes and dressed her in nice clothes, put on makeup to make her seem asleep, hidden the wound for his sake, not hers._

 _The murderer had been about 6"2, a man, with dark hair, an old wound in his right leg, and most probably a rose tattooed on his shoulder blade._

"How do you figure that?"

Sherlock blinked. For a second he had forgotten he had called Lestrade.

"The height is simple. We saw some evidence of his steps in the path near the house where the body was found. He had quite a long stride. Some simple math will tell you a man with that length of a stride would be around 6"2. The imprint of his right foot is slightly fainter than his left, indicating a slight limp, which points to an old wound, probably from a bullet or a knife. There are some strands of dark hair stuck in the fabric of the sweater which quite obviously do not belong to the body."

"And the tattoo of the rose?" Lestrade prompted.

"Her tattoo is clearly part of a matching set. If you'll notice, said tattoo has been faded very badly, especially along the base by the stem. It was once a name: the letters A and T are distinguishable. She clearly tried to get rid of it. I suspect, if this was a crime of passion, that the same tattoo with her name is somewhere on the killers body."

Lestrade was silent for a while before saying "I'll put that in the report. Thank you, Sherlock."

After hanging up, Sherlock sank back onto his bed and let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Violet humming to herself in the next room and a tiny smile curved across his face. Kristy used to do that…

He let out another sigh and decided to visit his Mind Palace.

 _Mycroft knew something was up. Sherlock would not stay for a month in America under normal circumstances. This had better be one hell of a case._

 _He decided to go see what on earth was going on._

 _Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard._

 _Kristy had dragged him to the movies again to see a comedy. The movie was just dumb enough that its jokes amused him, but he was more amused by watching Kristy watch it. She was laughing so hard that she kept burying her face in his shoulder, grabbing his arm, trying to muffle her giggles. She had changed perfume, he noticed: less citrus, more vanilla. He muffled his own laughter against her head and breathed in the mixed scents of her perfume and her shampoo._

 _After the movie, they were walking around the park towards her apartment and Kristy calmly slipped her hand into his. Despite her calm posture and expression, a tinge of red stained her cheeks. He smiled at her and laced their fingers together, saying nothing of it. Her smile grew a little bigger, but she said nothing either, and they continued to walk, hand in hand. It was a clear, cold night, and a slight breeze had picked up, causing her nose and cheeks to turn red and her hair (down again, and loose) to blow out behind her. He saw her shiver, and she snuggled into his side as they walked, eyes closing slightly._

 _Once they reached her apartment, she turned and smiled at him._

" _I had a good time tonight. Thanks for coming with me." Her voice was soft in the night air, and her breath puffed out in a white cloud into the space between them._

" _I had a good time too." Sherlock said, just as quietly._

 _They stood there for a moment before Kristy smiled up at him._

" _Good night." She whispered, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, just as she had done the first night they met. And before she went inside, Sherlock stopped her and kissed her cheek._

 _And he would deny it to anyone who asked, but he was grinning like a loon as he walked to his hotel that night._

 _What he didn't know was that Mycroft was standing on the other side of the street, watching him._

 _The next day, he got a call._

" _Hello?"_

 _He had to pull the phone away from his ear at the sudden explosion of noise on the other end._

"… _really have no idea what you think you're doing but I do NOT approve…"_

" _Mycroft?"_

" _Yes, Sherlock it's me. When were you going to tell me about her?"_

 _Shit._

" _Never, I guess."_

" _Sherlock, we have discussed this. Love is not for men like us. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument, as you always say. It clouds the mind and dulls the senses."_

 _Sherlock could feel himself getting slightly angry._

" _It's not like that, Mycroft…"_

" _I saw you kiss her last night, Sherlock."_

 _Dammit._

" _I'm arranging for your flight back right now…"_

" _No."_

 _Mycroft was really mad now. "What do you mean, no?"_

" _I'm staying here."_

" _Like hell you are…"_

" _Aren't you the one always telling me that I need to be more normal? I'm twenty- two, Mycroft. One does get tired of being lonely sometimes."_

" _Sherlock…"_

" _I'm not leaving, Mycroft. I'm finally something that I never thought I could ever be."_

 _Mycroft's voice held a hint of grudging curiosity. "And what is that?"_

" _Happy."_

"Daddy?"

Sherlock blinked and turned his head. Violet was standing beside his bed, head tilted. She seemed to be able to tell he didn't want to talk and held out the book she held, a children's science book about human anatomy.

"Will you read to me?"

Anyone who knew Sherlock Holmes even slightly would swear up and down that the man would never be caught dead reading a book to a child. But those people were missing a piece of the puzzle: Sherlock Holmes would do just about anything for people he loved. Not Mycroft, not his parents, but for his daughter?

Sherlock would walk through fire drenched in gasoline for his little girl.

"Sure."

Violet beamed and climbed up beside him, snuggling into his side and opening the book. She could read by herself, but she also loved being read to. It was a kid thing.

"All right." Sherlock said once she was comfortable. "This part of the brain is called the frontal lobe…"


	8. Chapter 8

**So it has been brought to my attention that Sherlock seems out of character when he is with Kristy. My defense for this… He's young, fresh out of school, he's optimistic, and most of all, he's in love for the first time in his life. Of course he's gonna act a little different.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

 **CHAPTER 8: MEET THE IN-LAWS**

Typically, if John walked into Baker Street and heard raised voices, he would assume a distressed client had arrived and would go in to stop Sherlock from making the cynical comments he was so accustomed to.

However, this was not a typical day.

When John came in, he did hear raised voices, but he was surprised to hear Sherlock's voice among them. His friend almost never raised his voice at a client. But he was almost yelling, and very clearly angry.

Suddenly, Violet whisked around the corner and ran into his legs. She immediately dodged behind them and peered out hesitantly.

John was shocked at the change in the child. Her face was white, her eyes huge with fear, and he could feel her trembling behind his legs. She looked up at him and tugged at his pants leg, pulling him away from the door, before she crept up and closed it with a soft click. The voices inside diminished. Then Violet reached up, grabbed John's hand, and pulled him down the steps until they were concealed at the side of it. She looked up at him, bottom lip trembling.

"Daddy's yelling." She whimpered.

John crouched beside her. "Are you okay?"

A quick shake of the head. "I'm scared."

"Is he angry at you?"

"No, but Gramps is."

John blinked. "Gramps?"

"And Gram. They wanna take me to New York. But I don't wanna go." Violet was hugging herself, looking down at the floor. "Gramps is mean. He says I can't study science because I'm a girl. Gran says I need to wear more dresses and play with princess dolls. They yell a lot and won't let me see Daddy." Violet shot a fearful glance up towards the door. "I don't like it when people yell at me."

John's heart hurt…. As well as his head. Gram and Gramps?

He stood up and forced a cheerful smile. "Well, what does your father say?"

"Daddy says they can't take me because the ju-di-shul court won't let them." Violet looked up at him.

"Well then, trust your dad. Come on, let's go see if Mrs. Hudson will give you a cookie or something and I'll go up and sort it out, yeah?"

It took some coaxing; but Violet eventually took his hand and let him lead her to the landlady's apartment. Mrs. Hudson (bless that woman's soul), after a quick explanation of what was happening upstairs, quickly pulled Violet into her apartment and led her to the kitchen, promising sugar cookies and some lemonade, while John took a deep breath and headed upstairs.

Sherlock was facing off with some very formidable looking people. The man was about Sherlock's height with the appearance of a bulldog: a formidable jaw and chin, small, beady brown eyes, and a nose that looked squashed, like a child had made a nose out of Play-Doh and then pounded it with a fist. The woman had a shock of dyed blonde hair teased gravity-defyingly high and shaped into a beehive. She had stern, uncompromising features, was wearing way too much makeup, and was clutching a small black handbag like it was a deadly weapon she wanted to assault someone with.

John took a wild guess and assumed these must be Kristy's parents. Sherlock's parents did not have the aura of 'must-kill-now' that surrounded these people.

The man was currently yelling, his face thrust close to Sherlock's, as if he could intimidate him with violation of personal space.

"Learn to respect your elders and betters, young man!" Bulldog had a voice like someone talking through a tunnel.

"Hell would freeze over before I allowed you any respect!" Sherlock yelled back. He didn't intimidate easily.

"Watch your language, Mr. Holmes, there is a lady present!" simpered Beehive. Her voice was crisp and sharp.

"With all due respect, you are no lady." Sherlock said, mimicking her tone with such vicious exactness John had to hold in a laugh.

Beehive looked affronted. Bulldog jabbed a sausage-shaped finger in Sherlock's face.

"That child is the last remnant of our dear departed daughter. Kristen would want us to raise her!"

"Kristy specifically stated she wanted neither of you anywhere near Violet!"

"You're an unfit father!" Beehive snapped. "Dressing her like a boy in those horrid jeans, letting her read the most awful things… she's only five, she shouldn't be reading yet anyway!"

Bulldog jumped back in. "And she's entirely too familiar with adults! Children should be seen and not heard!"

"Violet is exceptionally intelligent, a trait which you both obviously lack, and if she wants to read about science and human anatomy instead of fairy tales and princesses, than I certainly won't stop her! As to what she wears, the sort of things you would put her in simply aren't practical! She's my daughter and I'm raising her as I see fit!" Sherlock held up a hand as Bulldog and Beehive spluttered. "If you don't get out of my flat in five seconds, I will call the police."

"We are Violet's grandparents! You can't call the police on us!"

"I have an order from the judge to keep you both far away from Violet, and as you are not British citizens… which Violet is, might I add. You cannot get the law involved, whether it's here or in New York. Get out. Now."

Bulldog and Beehive started to say something else, but when Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone threateningly, they grumbled and threatened on their way out of the door. Bulldog glared at John as they left. They slammed the door, and a few seconds later, a muted thud from the street door showed they had gone.

Sherlock sank to the couch with a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I take it Violet is at Mrs. Hudson's?" he asked his palms.

"Yes, she is. Mrs. Hudson said something about lemonade and cookies."

Sherlock gave a tired nod.

"She hates it when people yell. I shouldn't have."

"Who were they?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed and straightened up, before slouching backwards onto the couch again.

"They are James and Naomi Webb. Kristy's parents. They never liked me, and they struggled for nearly a year to have Violet live with them, even after Sabrina got custody. As you can tell, they think I'm an unfit father."

He gave a shake of his head, and one hand clenched into a fist.

"I'd rather die than allow them to raise my daughter."

A little while later, Mrs. Hudson brought Violet back up. She flew across the flat and threw herself into Sherlock's lap, her little arms winding around his neck.

"Are they gonna take me away, Daddy?"

Sherlock, after a moment's hesitation, hugged her tightly and murmured "No, Violet, they're not."

 _It had been five months since they had started dating, and Sherlock thought he knew something was wrong with his girlfriend._

 _(It still gives him such a thrill to say that.)_

 _His suspicions were confirmed over coffee one morning._

 _Kristy: So how did that interview at the police station go?_

 _Sherlock: (with a shrug) Well enough. Though the captain eats far too many doughnuts and has an illegitimate child._

 _Kristy: (opens her mouth, then closes it and shakes her head) Not gonna ask._

 _(They sip their coffee in silence for a moment before Kristy puts down her mug)_

 _Kristy: So my parents want to meet you_

 _(Sherlock chokes on his drink)._

 _Kristy's parents had started pestering her to let them meet her new boyfriend. So it was with great reluctance that she dragged Sherlock towards her parent's apartment one unusually sunny March morning._

" _So, just a warning. My parents…" she paused, searching for words, then huffed and said "To be perfectly honest, they're a complete nightmare and I really, really wish I didn't have to put you through meeting them, but I must, so just do me a favor and don't punch them, okay?"_

 _As she finished this extraordinary speech, they ended up in front of the apartment door. Kristy shot him a despairing look, took a deep breath, and reached for his hand, twining their fingers firmly together. Then she lifted her hand and knocked firmly on the door three times._

 _It opened._

" _Hello, Kristen."_

 _A woman with dyed blonde hair teased high above her head stood in the doorway. Her eyelids were painted blue, her cheeks bright pink, and her lips red, with lipstick bleeding into the wrinkles around her mouth. She was wearing a fussy floral dress and a string of pearls._

 _Kristy managed a tight smile._

" _Hi, Mom."_

 _The woman turned her gaze to Sherlock. "And this is?"_

" _Mom, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my mom."_

" _Sherlock? That's unusual." The woman said before holding out her hand. "Naomi."_

 _Sherlock shook her hand, then followed Kristy inside, her mother glancing distastefully at their conjoined hands. Kristy raised an eyebrow and moved closer to him: a subtle gesture of defiance._

 _A tall man wearing a pressed blue suit was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking armchair, reading a newspaper. He looked up as they entered._

" _Ah, Kristen."_

" _Hi, Dad."_

 _He carefully examined her, one eyebrow raising and a hard tone creeping into his voice._

" _Have you been following the diet plan your mother and I gave you, Kristen?"_

 _Sherlock felt his own eyebrow raise._

" _Yes, Dad."_

" _Hmm. I could swear you were putting on weight." He shook open his newspaper again. "No one wants a fat woman, Kristen. Maybe you shouldn't eat anything else today. Do you need any more of that tea Mother sent?"_

 _Sherlock was about ready to punch Kristy's father, and was about to tell him where exactly he could stick his diet plan and special tea when he caught Kristy's warning glance._

" _No Dad, I'm good."_

 _Kristy's voice was hard as well, and she was gripping Sherlock's hand so tightly he was fairly certain circulation had been cut off._

" _Well, sit down, then." her mother said. "James, dear, this is Sherlock. Kristen's special friend."_

 _Kristy let out a soft sigh and gave Sherlock an 'I'm so sorry about this' look._

" _Sherlock? Where is that from?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that Jewish?"_

 _Taken aback, Sherlock shrugged._

" _I really have no idea. Sir." He hastily added._

" _Hmm. If you were Jewish I would have had to kick you out of the apartment."_

( **None of what Kristy's parents are saying is a belief of mine or my family's. Methinks I had too much fun making them into complete jerks. Sorry if I offend, but again, none of it is what I actually believe.)**

 _Sherlock blinked and shot Kristy an incredulous look. She winced._

" _Dad, can we not…"_

" _Don't talk back to me, Kristen. And let go of your friends hand, it's unseemly."_

 _Kristen gritted her teeth but untangled her fingers from Sherlocks._

 _The lunch progressed in very awkward silence before Naomi spoke up._

" _So, Kristen, did you take my advice last time we chatted?"_

 _Kristy tensed._

" _No, Mom, I'm still studying biochemistry and have a job interview on Wednesday."_

 _Both her parents heaved a sigh._

" _Kristen, how many times have I told you, a woman's place is not where you are. You should take a job teaching. Or nursing. You could work as a receptionist until you get married."_

" _Mom!" Kristy was bright red._

" _I'm just telling you the truth, honey. A woman's place is at home, serving her husband and raising her children, and a job in biochemistry is simply no place for a lady…"_

" _Enough."_

 _Sherlock's voice silenced Naomi completely._

" _Excuse me, young man?"_

" _I said enough."_

 _Sherlock stood up and glared._

" _I really don't think you have any right to lecture Kristy on anything, given the fact that neither of you have any friends to speak of, you" he pointed at Naomi "have been sneaking copious amounts of sweets, most likely for a very long time, and you" he pointed at James "can't talk either, too much beer does make ones belly bulge. You are also on the cusp of being fired from your job, most likely for drinking on the job and most likely for also being an arse." He turned and held out his hand._

 _Kristy was already standing behind him. She reached out and took his hand, shot one last glare at her very surprised parents, and then they both left._

 _Once outside, Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Kristy._

" _So, your parents are…fun."_

" _Oh shut up, I know. They're awful."_

" _Why do you still talk to them, then?"_

" _I have too. They're paying my tuition. My sister doesn't talk to them anymore. She moved out and changed her name the day she turned eighteen. Her name used to be Grace. Now she's Sabrina Murray. She just… couldn't take it anymore."_

 _Kristy sighed, looking rather forlorn, before absentmindedly nestling against his side. Typically, Sherlock did not prefer human contact, but somehow he didn't mind Kristy almost constantly touching him._

" _You shouldn't listen to them."_

" _Well, hopefully after tonight and the reality check they just got, I won't have too."_

 _She smiled at him, then reached up and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek._

" _Sherlock Holmes." She murmured. "I think I might be falling in love with you."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything you recognize from the show.**

 **CHAPTER 9: MUSINGS OF A MURDERER**

He's sitting on the edge of the crappy hotel bed almost a month after the murder, pulling the necklace on its delicate chain through his fingers rhythmically. The action calms him. He stares at a picture of Patty sitting beside the bed.

In the picture, Patty is wearing a deep red cocktail dress. Her golden-red hair is twisted half up to show off the fancy gold earrings he'd gotten for her that one Christmas. She's wearing black stiletto heels.

 _I didn't mean too, baby. I'm so sorry. You brought it on yourself. I had too. I'm so, so sorry, baby._

He felt like he had every time he'd had to beat her; he hadn't liked it, but she was just so frustrating sometimes. He scowls, then his face crumples and he sniffs.

The charm of the necklace catches on his fingers and he looks down.

Such a pretty thing: a small gold key, understated and simple, with a fancy heart-shaped top formed from curlicues. He traces one with a fingertip.

It wasn't something he would have ever given Patty. This necklace he kept as a reminder. A reminder to never, ever do what he had done ever again.

He looks down at it and whispers the words he's said a million times since he got it.

"I'm so sorry…"

…

Lestrade was at his desk filing a report when a sharp, businesslike voice spoke from the front of his desk.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

He looked up.

A young woman was standing on the other side of his desk. She had that odd half-shaved hairstyle, straight strands of dyed orange hair hanging past her shoulders along the back of her head and on one side of her face. She was wearing thick eyeliner and lipstick of the same shade of dark purple, a green tank top under a black leather jacket, and blue jeans covered in gaping holes with black combat boots. Her nails were painted neon green.

"That's me. Can I help you, miss?"

"I'm here to pick up my niece."

Lestrade blinked. The woman rolled her eyes and elaborated.

"I'm Sabrina. I'm here for Violet Holmes. Didn't he tell you?"

Lestrade shook his head, too surprised to speak. This was Violets aunt?

Sabrina heaved a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the steel toes of her boots and let her head fall back. Every line of her body spoke of exasperation.

"He said he needed to check something out and told me he'd drop her off at the station." She sat down in one of the chairs near his desk with an annoyed huff. "Do you mind if I wait here?"

"Not at all."

They sat in awkward silence for about five minutes.

Lestrade cleared his throat. "So your Violet's aunt."

"Yes."

"Why did you raise her and not Sherlock? He mentioned you just gave Violet back to him."

Sabrina gave a small, humorless chuckle. "I don't suppose he told you anything about her past, did he? Well, Mr. Lestrade, when my sister was murdered five years ago, my parents immediately filed for custody. They claimed Sherlock was an unfit father for a baby girl. They told the court about his job, how it was less than steady time-wise." She broke off at the confused look on Lestrade's face and clarified. "He was a detective with the NYPD at that point. They told about his experiments, how he kept human body parts in his fridge and owned guns that he didn't exactly keep locked up, especially not at that point in time. My parents hate me and I them, and I didn't want Violet living with them. So I filed for custody, and I won." She gave a small shrug. "Only problem was that Violet is a lot like her father. She's very, very intelligent and gets bored easily. I'm not nearly as smart as she is, and it's exhausting trying to juggle a job that needs too much time and a kid who needs too much attention: I'm a photographer for a magazine. I would get so tired and so frustrated that I snapped at her one too many times. She's a sensitive soul. She hates being snapped at, so she was less then pleasant to me. So I switched custody over to Sherlock. It seemed the easiest option for the both of us."

Lestrade nodded, but his brain kept looping back to one sentence.

… _when my sister was murdered five years ago…_

"Aunt Sabrina!"

Lestrade jerked back into the world of the living as Violet skipped over to his desk and bounced into Sabrina's lap, throwing her arms enthusiastically around her aunt's neck. Something in Sabrina's expression softened, and she wrapped her arms around Violet as well.

"Hey, kiddo. Missed you."

"Daddy says you're taking me to the park."

"I am. Ready?"

"Yeah!"

Sabrina stood, transferring Violet to the floor. The little girl slipped her hand into Sabrina's and waved cheerfully.

"Bye, Daddy. Bye, Mr. Watson. Bye, Mr. Lestrade."

Sabrina gave everyone a curt nod and left, leading Violet, who was skipping at her side, chattering away.

Lestrade was bending once again over the report on his desk when he heard Violet call out "Hi, Freak Lady!"

A few seconds later, Donovan rushed past, her face tinged with red. It took all Lestrade had not to burst out in laughter.

…

Sabrina, tired, unlocked the door to her apartment. Violet skipped past her and immediately went to her room.

Having spent a good two hours at the park, Sabrina had called Sherlock, who had told her to take Violet back to her apartment. He would pick her up there.

Sabrina collapsed on her couch with a sigh, closing her eyes. It had been a very long day at work yesterday. Hopefully Violet would be worn out and would play quietly for a while.

Sabrina heard footsteps and opened one eye. Violet had come out of her room, holding her doll by one arm.

Sabrina smiled to herself. She remembered when Violet had gotten that thing…

 _The box felt light, but that was no indicator of what was in it. For all Sabrina knew, her parents had sent Violet a box full of packing peanuts. She wouldn't put it past them._

" _Whassat, Auntie?"_

 _Violet was up from her nap._

" _Present from Gram and Gramps."_

" _For you?"_

" _No, for you, Miss Four-year-old. Wanna see what they gave you?"_

 _Violet came closer and watched as Sabrina cut open the tape holding the box shut, opening the flaps and pushing aside packing peanuts to reveal a doll._

 _The doll had a stuffed cloth torso with plastic limbs and head, curly blonde hair, and blue eyes. It was dressed in a very frilly pink dress, lacy white socks, and shiny black Mary Janes. There was a shiny pink satin ribbon in its hair. Sabrina inwardly rolled her eyes. She had gotten Violet a child's book with diagrams of human anatomy in it, and Violet was still reading it. She would have no use for a doll._

 _Sabrina lifted it out. "They sent a doll." She handed it to Violet._

 _Violet took the doll and held it out at arms length, brow furrowing._

" _What'm I s'pposed to do with this?" she asked._

 _Sabrina barely held back a laugh. "You're supposed to play with it."_

" _Why is it so pink?"_

 _Sabrina did laugh this time. "I don't know, kiddo. That's just how it was made."_

 _Still looking confused, Violet went back to her room, still holding the doll._

 _Violet was a quiet kid by nature. When silence issued from her room, Sabrina assumed Violet was reading and left it at that._

 _Then Violet walked past her into the kitchen, exiting the kitchen with the scissors Sabrina had used to open the box. She walked back into her room. Sabrina looked after her for a second, then shrugged. Violet was a smart kid and knew how to use scissors._

 _She only got worried when Violet passed her again, minus the scissors and her cupped hands full of what was unmistakably blonde curls of hair. Sabrina followed Violet back to room and froze at the doorway._

 _Violet had laid the doll out on a blanket on the floor. The dolls dress, socks, shoes, and ribbon were lying in a neat pile beside it. Violet had used the scissors to cut the hair on the left side of the dolls head as close as she could, and had arranged the rest of the hair to mimic Sabrina's own hairstyle. She had used her brand-new pack of markers (a gift from Sabrina's boyfriend) to draw shapes on the dolls torso. Beside her lay the book Sabrina had given her._

 _With a jolt, Sabrina realized what she was doing: drawing organs on the dolls body, and from the looks of it, had decided to start drawing bones on the torso._

 _Violet looked up and blinked innocently at her aunt._

" _I think her hair looks better this way." She stated calmly and went back to drawing a line on the dolls leg._

 _Sabrina couldn't help it. She busted out laughing._

There was a knock on the door and Sabrina stood up to answer it.

It was Sherlock. He gave her a curt nod. "How was she?"

"Just fine." Sabrina responded, nodding back at him.

Violet flew up and hugged Sherlock's leg, then turned back and gave Sabrina a big smile.

"Bye, Aunt Sabrina!" she sang, hugging her. Sabrina hugged her, and then watched as she left with her father.

"Bye, Violet." She said.

Back in her apartment, Sabrina took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

God, Violet reminded her so much of Kristy that sometimes it physically hurt. Violet had her father's hair and eyes, but had Kristy's cheerful temperament and that way of speaking that had been peculiar to her sister: an almost accent-like way of forming words Kristy had been completely unconscious of. Violet did the same thing.

It was still so easy to close her eyes and see Kristy, her hair loose and flowing, brown eyes smiling, her favorite necklace around her neck: a small gold key with a curlicued top in the shape of a heart.

Sabrina took a deep breath and let it out, blinking back the tears.

"We're gonna find him someday, Kristy." She whispered. "And when we do, I'm gonna break that SOB's nose for you."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10:A GUILTY GIFT AND A SWEET SURPRISE**

 _Sherlock was in trouble._

 _He just wasn't sure why._

 _He had moved in with Kristy a few days after his first day as an NYPD detective and hers as a forensic analysist. Her apartment was walking distance from the precinct, and he found he enjoyed waking up to her. All had been going smoothly until this afternoon._

 _Kristy had been giving him oddly hopeful looks all morning, but by noon was ignoring him. The one time he had tried to ask what was wrong, she had brushed him away with an airy "I'm fine, Sherlock." in a tone that spelled slow, painful death if he didn't figure it out, and fast._

 _It was only by chance he figured it out._

 _His partner, Sarah Murray, was a senior detective who was a few years older than Sherlock. She was a tall, friendly woman with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a rather unhealthy obsession with horses. She saw Sherlock's confusion after Kristy's brush-off and let out a hearty laugh._

" _Trouble in paradise, Holmes?"_

 _Sherlock shrugged helplessly._

 _Sarah clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, whatever it is, at least you didn't forget her birthday, right? Maybe she's just pissed because her parents didn't…" She noticed the look on Sherlock's face and blinked, eyes going wide._

" _Oh. My. God. You forgot her birthday, didn't you?"_

 _She immediately spun and went to her desk, where she grabbed a card and handed it to him._

" _My cousin owns this place. Go and tell her what happened, she'll be able to help."_

 _Sherlock glanced at the card. Embossed in golden, old- fashioned cursive was the name_ _ **Molly A. Stone. Jeweler. Stone's Finest Jewelry for All Occasions.**_

 _ **...**_

 _Molly was a tiny woman a few years older than Sarah, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a wide, infectious smile to go with her pink shirt and white skirt. She strolled forward in white high-heeled sandals to shake Sherlock's hand._

" _Hi! I'm Molly. Can I help you, sir? Looking for something special?"_

 _Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible under his breath._

" _Sorry, didn't catch that."_

" _I'm looking for something for my girlfriend."_

" _Aw! Birthday present?"_

 _A sharp nod._

" _Well, what kind of thing does she like? Southwestern? Beads? Rubies? Diamonds? Do you know if she prefers silver over gold? Chain over nylon? Small charm or bigger?"_

 _Sherlock blinked under the onslaught of questions. He couldn't recall ever seeing Kristy wear jewelry._

 _Molly had her head tilted, watching him. Then understanding lit her eyes._

 _" Ah. Forgot the birthday, didn't you? Well, sir, I have just the thing."_

 _She disappeared into another room of the shop, emerging with a small, dark blue velvet box. She opened it._

 _A thin gold chain was barely visible against grey lining. The charm was small, a key with a heart-shaped top. It was simple and understated. Perfect._

" _I'll take it."_

…

 _When they got home that night, Sherlock handed Kristy the box with an awkward "Happy birthday."_

 _She blinked up at him, all irritation with him fading. "You remembered?"_

 _Sherlock nodded. "Just… waiting for the right time."_

 _She looked at him for a second before smiling._

" _Then why on earth did you let me act like such a bitch, you dork?"_

 _Sherlock shrugged, laughing, as she took the box from him and opened it._

 _Her hand went to her mouth._

" _Oh… Sherlock, it's beautiful. Thank you!"_

 _She reached up and kissed him, then smiled at him and pulled the necklace from the box._

" _Put it on for me?"_

 _He did._

…

 _The next day, when Kristy walked into the precinct wearing the necklace and a huge smile, Sarah shot him a discreet grin and a thumbs up._

Sherlock let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face.

No leads.

None.

No one had seen Patty Ellis near the time of death. No one had any idea what she had been so scared of. No one had seen her with anyone unusual. And he could not find the man with dark hair and a limp.

It had been a little over a month now. He was exhausted. He had barely seen Violet in that time. She never seemed to mind, and Mrs. Hudson adored being her primary babysitter, but he still felt kind of bad.

She was his daughter. But to him, work came first.

Especially since this case reminded him a lot of…

He slammed on the mental brakes. Not going there, Holmes.

He stumbled wearily towards Mrs. Hudson's apartment, opened the door, and was assaulted with a heavenly smell.

Violet bounced around the corner, flour covering her from head to toe and beaming. Was that a streak of cookie dough on her cheek?

"Hi, Daddy!" she said happily. "Me and Mrs. Hudson made cookies!"

"Mrs. Hudson and I." he corrected automatically.

"Come on!" Violet giggled, grabbing his arm. "Come see!"

Sherlock was dragged into the kitchen, where Violet snagged a chocolate chip cookie off of a cooling tray and held it up excitedly.

"See!"

He nodded, still tired, and took her hand.

"Let's go back upstairs, Violet."

She nodded and took a few more cookies before hugging Mrs. Hudson goodbye and following him up the stairs.

As soon as Violet was secured in her room, Sherlock collapsed in his own bed.

When he woke up the next morning, he found a plate of cookies beside his bed.

 _He blinked suspiciously at the plate of cookies on the coffee table._

" _You never bake. Anything. Ever."_

" _I was inspired!"_

 _Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, who was fidgeting almost nervously._

" _Are you… okay? Feeling any better?"_

 _She had been throwing up that morning and hadn't felt well for a few days. When he had left that morning, she had been pale and drawn._

 _She certainly looked much better. Her cheeks were pink, and she seemed to be constantly fighting a huge smile. She kept fidgeting with her hands, shifting her weight._

 _He could feel the box in his pocket burning against his hip. The smell of baking cookies had temporarily driven it from his mind._

" _I'm feeling so much better." Kristy assured him. She settled onto the couch and grinned up at him._

" _Come on. Sit down. Have a cookie."_

 _He looked around the kitchen._

" _I don't see any wine… are you tipsy?"_

" _No! I swear!" She patted the couch beside her. "Sit."_

 _Sherlock warily sat down, picked up a cookie, and nibbled on the edge. His eyes widened._

" _These are delicious!" He eyeballed her. "You made these?"_

 _Kristy was a notoriously bad cook. She kicked him in the thigh, though she was still grinning._

" _Shut up and eat your cookie, dork."_

 _They sat for a while, eating cookies in the companionable silence that happens in a long relationship. When he was done, Sherlock decided it was now or never._

" _Can I ask you something?"_

" _I need to tell you something." Kristy blurted, at the same time._

 _The looked at each other for a second before Kristy hooked her hair behind her ears, grinning._

" _You go first."_

 _Sherlock took a deep breath and pulled the box from his pocket._

 _Kristy's eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. "Oh my God…"_

" _Kristen Webb, will you marry me?"_

 _His heart was pounding._

 _Kristy nodded several times, tears streaming down her cheeks._

" _Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!" She leaned forward and threw her arms around him._

 _They sat like that for a while, just hugging each other on the couch, before she pulled away and wiped at her eyes. She took the box from him and slipped the ring on._

" _God, I love you, you absolute dork." she muttered, beaming at him and hugging him again._

 _Sherlock turned his head and pressed his nose into her hair. He kissed the top of her head._

" _And I love you." he murmured._

 _She twisted so her back was against his chest, his arms still around her. They lay like that for a little while before Sherlock suddenly remembered something._

" _Didn't you want to tell me something?"_

" _Oh! Yes!"_

 _Kristy jumped up like a firecracker and raced for the bathroom. A moment later she came back, something held behind her, grinning at him._

 _She held out a plastic bag containing a small white stick. He took it and studied it._

 _In a tiny digital window near the tip, a small pink plus sign smiled up at him._

 _The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, followed by a sledgehammer._

 _He looked up at Kristy, wide-eyed. "Your pregnant."_

 _She grinned, nodding._

 _And then the world went black._

 **...**

" _He did not pass out." Sabrina laughed over the phone. "Holmes, you did not pass out."_

" _And no one will let me forget it." he muttered. Kristy shot him a grin._

" _All right, Sabrina, stop teasing my fiance. How's the band coming?"_

" _I've given up the band. I've got an internship at this magazine in London! I've decided to be a photographer."_

" _Sab, that's awesome! Seriously, I'm so proud of you!"_

" _Thanks, Kristy. Sooooo, about the wedding… please tell me I'm your maid of honor!"_

 _Other reactions to the wedding and the baby were far less favorable. Mycroft had only met Kristy once, and he showed cool approval, but Kristy's parents were another story._

 _Naomi called to rant about how Kristy would regret this for the rest of her life and what a terrible person she was for getting pregnant before marriage. She demanded Kristy abort immediately and made loud claims how she would never claim the baby as a grandchild. Kristy hung up right around that time before Sherlock gave in to the urge to throttle his future mother-in-law._

 _God, was that a scary thought._

 _James went for a slightly more subtle approach. He waited for Sherlock outside the police station and confronted him._

" _Wait a moment, Holmes."_

 _Kristy had stopped, eyes wide. "Dad, what are you doing here?"_

" _Hush, Kristen. The men are talking."_

 _Kristy crossed her arms and didn't move._

" _Now, Holmes, name your price."_

 _Sherlock blinked. "What?"_

" _Your price for leaving Kristen. What is it? Now, Kristen, no need to look so despondent, I've another young man lined up for you."_

 _Kristy stepped toward her father, fists clenched. Sherlock held out his arm to stop her._

" _I have no price. I'm not leaving Kristy."_

" _Come now, Holmes, every man has a price." James pulled out a wallet and tantalizing removed a huge roll of bills. "A marriage between you and my daughter simply cannot work." He nodded to Kristy. "Don't worry, dear, I can pay for a good clinic. You won't feel a thing."_

" _I'm not getting an abortion!" Kristy snapped._

 _Sherlock wrapped his arm around Kristy's shoulders and turned to guide her into the station, spitting over his shoulder "Leave the premises and never speak to me or Kristy again."_

" _Take your money and abortion and shove it up your…" Kristy called, but Sherlock ushered her into the station before she could finish the sentence._

 _Despite these problems, they were quite possibly the best few months of Sherlock's life._

 _Becoming a father was never really something he thought about. He wasn't a sentimental man. But yet, here he was, with a fiancee and a baby on the way. He had never felt happier. Never felt more… complete._

 _Kristy was three months along when they married. They couldn't afford a huge wedding, so it was a simple, small affair at a nearby courthouse. Kristy wore a simple white sundress and her gold key necklace. Sabrina, her dark purple hair braided over one shoulder, kept shooting her sister loving looks. She took a picture when the ceremony was over, on the steps of the courthouse, Kristy beaming into the camera, one hand pulling an amused Sherlock's arm over her shoulder, her other arm wrapped around his ribs._

 _That picture now hung on Sabrina bedroom wall._

 _When the baby was born, Sherlock wasn't there. He had been sent on a domestic violence case to the other side of New York and wasn't even aware Kristy was in the hospital until Sabrina called him._

" _Get your ass down to the hospital, Holmes. Congrats, your a father."_

 _He was half surprised he didn't faint again._

 _And when he got there, Kristy was holding a tiny bundle, wrapped in a striped blanket and a pale pink hat._

 _His wife smiled exhaustedly up at him. "It's a girl."_

 _Sherlock swore he had never seen anything more beautiful than his daughter's tiny, scrunched features. He held her for a minute before the baby started crying, hungry. She was featherlight, and when he held her, the tiniest of smiles flickered across her face._

 _Sherlock and Kristy named their new daughter Violet Angelica Holmes. And for six months, life couldn't be better._

 _And then those six months ended._


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11:THE BEST LAID PLANS…**

" _Sherlock Holmes, I will be fine. Go to work, dork." Kristy gave him a gentle shove towards the door with the arm not holding six-month-old Violet._

" _Are you sure? You've been in bed barfing for two days."_

" _Babe, I'll be fine. It was just a stomach bug."_

 _Violet made a happy cooing noise and grabbed Kristy's key necklace._

" _I'll be fine, Sherlock." Kristy reassured, untangling her necklace from Violets tiny fingers. "Go to work. I was gonna take Violet for a walk anyway." She stepped closer and kissed him. "Bye. I love you."_

" _I love you too." Sherlock sighed, giving in. He kissed her cheek, kissed Violets head, and left._

 _It was a long, boring day at work, full of paperwork with only a domestic disturbance case to occupy his time._

 _He complained of this through text to Kristy, but after a while she had stopped answering, saying she was stretching her legs and taking Violet on a walk around the block._

 _He was so incredibly bored that he practically skipped out of the precinct when the day was over. Sarah rolled her eyes at him from her desk._

" _Geez, Holmes. Turn down the excitement, people will think you're actually glad to leave." she called after him._

 _When Sherlock opened the door to his apartment, he knew immediately something was wrong._

 _Kristy didnt respond to his "Im back. Feeling better?" but Violet was screaming down the hall in her room. He ran to scoop her up and soothe her._

" _Hush, Violet, hush. Daddy's here." He looked around the room, mystified. "Where's your mummy?"_

 _Maybe Kristy had to go to the store or something last-minute, or ran over to a neighbors while Violet napped. Or maybe she was asleep in hers and Sherlock's room. That was far more likely._

 _Violet was still fussy, so Sherlock decided to calm her down so he wouldn't wake up Kristy. He carried Violet towards the kitchen in search of a bottle._

 _What he found was so much worse._

 _Kristy lay sprawled on the floor of the kitchen, her eyes wide and glassy, her blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants soaked with blood still slowly oozing from a wound in her stomach. A small pool of blood was forming on the tile beneath her body. Her hair, which had been held in a ponytail, was wadded beneath her head. A huge purple bruise was forming on the side of her face._

 _Signs of a struggle were all over the kitchen. Shattered glass littered the ground. A kitchen knife, red to the hilt, lay beside Kristy. Another knife was clutched in her hand. A bloody handprint glared sickeningly red against a cabinet door._

 _Sherlock staggered backwards, automatically pressing Violet even tighter into his shoulder. He dropped to his knees at the threshold, unable to tear his eyes away from his wife's body._

 _It took him a moment, but he realized he was crying, tears streaking down his cheeks and coating his lips in the taste of salt._

" _No, Kristy, no please no, oh God please no, No Kristy no…"_

 _He could no more have stopped himself saying the words than he could have let go of Violet or taken his eyes away from Kristy's glassy, terrified gaze._

 _He wasn't quite sure how, but somehow the police were called, and he was allowed to watch while they went through everything._

" _Was she wearing her necklace today?" Sarah asked him. At his nod, she gave a grim sigh. "Well, we might have a motive there. The necklace is gone. It could be a robbery."_

" _This was no robbery." Sherlock stated numbly. His mind was working, piecing together the picture of what had happened._

" _Then what was it?"_

 _Sherlock stood up._

" _He surprised her after she put Violet down. Over by her door there's a dent in the wall: he threw her against it. She must have gotten the bruise on her face there; he must have grabbed her ponytail and hit her. She shoved him away and ran here."_

 _He pointed at the glass shards. "She must have thrown a glass at him when he got to the doorway, grabbing a knife to defend herself. There's blood on the knife in her hand. She stabbed him, somewhere low, because then he grabbed her arm, you can see the marks on her elbow, pulled her up, and…" he choked on the words._

" _And stabbed her." Sarah supplied. "That son of a bitch."_

 _Violet, who had been put in her room, started crying again._

 _Sherlock headed down the hall and mechanically scooped her up, bouncing her on his hip until she was happy once more. Then he reached into his pocket and made a call._

" _Sabrina. Somethings happened…"_

 _The murderer was never caught. Sherlock could deduce only his gender (male, deduced from the severity of the beating) his height (tall, about 6", deduced from the dent in the hallway where he had thrown Kristy and the dent where the glass thrown had hit the kitchen wall) and a few other things. (He had never killed before but knew how to beat someone, there was a distinct possibility he was drunk, and he would be wounded in one leg where Kristy had stabbed him.)_

 _An empty bottle of cheap bourbon was found in the trash outside, still in its brown paper bag(hence the drunk murderer). But despite the blood on the knife and the virtual treasure trove of DNA the bottle provided, it couldn't help: the DNA wasn't on record._

 _Sabrina was incensed when she discovered what had happened. She came over to the apartment after Sherlock called her, saw Kristy's body, and came in to cradle Violet, her gold lipstick stark against her suddenly pale face. Somehow, the knowledge that they must care for a baby helped lift the cloud of grief a little._

 _It only got worse when the reporters showed up. The story was front-page news the next day._

 _And then the in-laws showed up._

" _Oh, Kristen, oh my baby, oh what a tragedy this all is!" Naomi sobbed dramatically, bursting into the apartment with James and a policewoman hot on her heels. She stopped short when she caught sight of Sabrina, standing there in the middle of the living room, hair fuchsia and lips painted electric blue. Sabrina, seeing her parents, straightened, lifted her chin, and crossed her arms, brown eyes darkening under black mascara and lavender eyeliner._

" _What are you doing here!?" Naomi spat. "What sane policeman let you in here?"_

" _I did."_

 _Sherlock emerged from Violets bedroom, the baby on his hip._

" _There she is!" Naomi cried. She headed for Sherlock, arms out. "There's my granddaughter!"_

 _Sherlock shifted the baby out of Naomi's reach, his face blank. Sabrina and James were eyeing each other in the living room. Sarah, who was in the kitchen with a blood spatter analyst, peered around the young officer named Will Samson took a careful step forward._

" _Leave. Now."_

" _But why?" Naomi puffed up the back of her hair. "My only daughters been murdered."_

 _Sabrina barely blinked at the over-emphasised 'only daughter.'_

" _Leave. Now. You're trespassing."_

 _Sherlock's tone was expressionless._

" _She's here." James pouted, pointing like a scolded toddler to Sabrina._

 _Sabrina gave a sweet smile._

" _I'm helping my brother-in-law. After all, his wife, my sister, my only family, has just been murdered. He needs time to get over that, so I'm helping to properly care for my niece."_

 _James flinched slightly at the words 'only family' . Naomi was unaffected._

 _They had never taken any interest in Violet before now. But now, they had the chance to make trouble for Sherlock. And they reveled in it._

 _It was a very long, bitter battle, ending just before Violet turned one. Sabrina was granted full custody, Naomi and James were given visitation rights, and Sherlock was restricted to one weekend a month to see his daughter._

 _And if all that wasn't enough, a tiny memory kept tugging at Sherlock's mind._

 _At Kristy's funeral, he had been sitting off by himself, holding a sleeping Violet, when footsteps has paused right in front of him. He had felt intense scrutiny on his bowed head, but refused to look up. He couldn't stand to hear another fake, over-the-top condolence speech._

 _After a minute the steps had shuffled away, and Sherlock wished he had looked up._

 _Because he was pretty sure the owner of those steps was limping._


End file.
